


Regret

by freckledandspectacled



Series: Nygmobblepot Week 2017 [4]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Drugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Nygmobblepot Week 2017, Overdosing, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Assault, Technically Not Rape By Some Statutes But Statutes Are Shitty, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-03 23:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12156855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledandspectacled/pseuds/freckledandspectacled
Summary: Edward takes the last of his pills while waiting for his dealer and encounters a vivid hallucination of Oswald.





	Regret

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS AND TAGS. HEED THEM. THIS IS HORRIBLE. AWFUL. There's fluff a the end but it's TERRIBLE before that.

Edward is not a man who can allow himself regrets. He has too many of them, and there isn’t anything he can do to change them now. Guilt is a useless emotion, anyways. If he allows guilt to consume him he will easily be overcome. No, it’s better this way. The multitude of regrets he has follow him like ghosts. Kristen, Isabella, Oswald. He could have prevented each one, should have seen them coming. He could have convinced Kristen somehow, should have noticed Oswald’s behavior and done something to assure his friend that having Isabella in his life wouldn’t have changed things between them…

No.

It’s too late now.

Anxiety bubbles in the pit of his stomach and he takes another pill, cracks it apart so his high starts quickly and intensely. His dealer will be here soon. He eyes the tin. Only one pill left. May as well finish them off, he thinks, body thrumming with the rush of the first one already. Perhaps he’ll see Oswald again. He’d been absent all day, even as Edward presided over the press release concerning his continued absence and Edward’s assumption of his duties. Edward heads over to the couch to wait, he feels unsteady on his feet, like they’re not even there. It’s easier to lie on the couch, easier to miss Oswald when he thinks of the moments they shared on here. There it was, bubbling up again. He takes his last pill, hoping it will quiet the swell of emotions. He just wants to feel… _good_. To forget his latest regret, if only for a short while.

When he sees Oswald, it’s easier to acknowledge that he misses him. That Oswald was a part of him. It’s easier because it feels like Oswald is still with him so long as he can see him. Then the illusion fades and he’s reminded of how alone he’s made himself. Cursed regret. Edward wants to defy it, and the drugs help, but only so much.

Oswald appears over him just as he starts really rolling, the release of serotonin giving him a rush of connective emotions.

“Oswald,” he says, trying to sit up. He’s not coordinated enough, hands slipping from under him. Edward falls back onto the couch in a fit of giggles. Oswald must think he’s being so silly, but he couldn’t care less. He’s so glad Oswald is here.

“I can be Oswald,” Oswald says. Edward laughs. Of course, it is only a hallucination of Oswald. He’s far too self-aware to believe that Oswald is _really_ here. It’s just not often that his projections feel the need to remind him that they’re only _versions_ of the people he’s known that his own mind has conjured up. His idea of them. He must be really high, if his own psyche is trying to remind itself of the obvious.

“I missed you,” Edward says, smiling up at him. Oswald looks good today. His hair is dark and soft, he’s dry, and there isn’t even a piece of seaweed clinging to him.

“Thank you,” Oswald chuckles. Had Edward said that he looked good aloud? Well, it wasn’t like he hadn’t complimented his appearance before. “I always knew you had the hots for the Mayor.”

There he went again, more commentary from the inner machination of his mind on the secrets he held within them. Edward doesn’t feel like rehashing his attraction to Oswald again. He just wants to enjoy this, wants things to feel good for a little while.

“Obviously,” Edward says, “Why don’t you sit down?” He has no problem with Oswald being on the couch so long as he isn’t dripping wet and covered in river scum. Sitting on the couch with him is the kind of sweet sentimentality he thinks he can handle right now, all credit due to the fact that his brain is currently being flooded with a rush of pleasant neurochemicals. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Oswald says. He arranges Edward’s legs so he can join him on the couch, but to Edward’s surprise, he doesn’t push them off. Instead, he pulls Edward’s legs into his lap. He’s warm, and his touch feels so real. “You’re pretty sexy, you know.”

Edward blushes. He can’t recall Oswald ever being quite so forward, but perhaps it’s because that’s what he wants from him right now. What he needs. His subconscious mind has always been fairly skilled at keying into that.

“Thank you,” Edward says, unsure how exactly to respond. You’d think his own brain wouldn’t be able to make any commentary that could stump him, but evidently that assumption was untrue. Oswald leans over him, putting a hand near his face. He’s so close now he can feel Oswald’s breath. Rather, he thinks he can feel Oswald’s breath. It doesn’t matter.

“If you wanted Penguin so bad, why don’t you do something about it right now?” Oswald asks him. It’s a good question. Probably because he’s aware that this is a hallucination. It won’t feel real enough, it won’t _be_ real. He’d missed his chance at the genuine article. Now all he has is this pretender he’s created for himself. 

“It wouldn’t feel real,” Edward decides, staring up at him. He feels solid enough now, but when the drugs wear off Edward can already tell he’ll just be filled with more regret.

“Don’t I feel real enough?” Oswald asks, running one large hand down Edward’s chest, over his tie. “I’ll make you feel good, show you a good time.” Edward feels his resistance wearing down. It’s just a fantasy, after all. A hyper realistic one, but it would be no different from when he’d imagined himself and Oswald being sexually intimate prior to this. Well, the difference is that Oswald is dead, but he’s imagining it right now, isn’t he? Not only that, but Oswald’s touch feels so real. He might not get this again.

“I have a guest coming,” Edward realizes. He doesn’t want to be caught with his hands down his pants.

“Don’t worry about that,” Oswald says, grinning wickedly. “I’m sure he’ll knock.” He’s right. Well, Edward’s subconscious is right. He wouldn’t just walk in unannounced. Oswald takes his silence as consent and kisses him, delving into Edward’s mouth expertly. He didn’t think Oswald would be a good kisser at first, or maybe he’s only good because he’s a figment of Edward’s imagination and therefore knows what he likes. What’s truly shocking is just how real it feels. Oswald had been right. He moans, looping his arms around Oswald’s neck and shoulders and tugging him down, pressing himself closer.

Oswald pushes his legs apart and moves between them, fingers coming up to undo Edward’s tie. He rips it loose and throws it elsewhere, moving swiftly on to the buttons of Edward’s shirt. He takes hold of Edward’s shirt on either side and tears it open, every button flying off. Edward gasps. He hadn’t expected this to move along so quickly. Why was this moving so quickly?

“Hold on—” Edward says, interrupted when Oswald attacks the newly exposed skin of his neck with sloppy kisses and bites. “Oswald, slow down.”

“Don’t worry, baby. I’m going to make you feel so good,” Oswald promises. He kisses Edward again, and suddenly he _doesn’t_ feel so good. Maybe he should just let him keep going. Oswald cups the front of his trousers, caressing him through the material. It feels so nice, but Edward thinks he’s rolling harder than ever, and there’s a feeling of sickness in his stomach that won’t go away. It’s probably because he isn’t just going with the flow. That has to be it. Oswald undoes his belt, but the discomfort is only worsening.

“I don’t feel right,” Edward manages. There is definitely something wrong. Oswald lies on top of him, and it feels like he’s crushing him.

“You’re just nervous,” Oswald says. “I’ve got you, baby.” He undoes Edward’s button and his fly, then tugs his pants and underwear down, exposing his ass. Edward thinks he’s going to be sick.

“Stop,” he says, pushing weakly at Oswald shoulders. Oswald bears down on him harder, why can’t he banish this hallucination? From his position on top of Edward, it’s easy to pin him to the couch with his weight. One hand moves down to undo his own fly while he holds Edward in place.

“It’s rude to leave a guy hanging,” Oswald says, something like anger in his tone. “You wanted this, remember?” Oswald pulls his cock through his jeans, jeans?, and presses between Edward’s cheeks. He can’t hold it back anymore, turning his head just in time to throw up over the side of the couch.

“Fuck, that’s nasty,” Oswald says. “You’re not even going to remember this, huh?” Edward feels weak, his limbs too far out of his control. Oswald easily turns him over onto his stomach, despite Edward’s uncoordinated attempts to push him off. He doesn’t want it anymore, why isn’t Oswald stopping? Oswald pulls his shirt and jacket down his arms, trapping them in the fabric.

“There, let’s try this again,” he says, pulling Edward’s cheeks apart. He runs his cock up and down, brushing over Edward’s entrance before taking hold of his cock in one hand. Edward moans weakly in protest, unable to form the words he needs. Was Oswald going to take him dry? He’d said he was going to make Edward feel good, hadn’t he? Or had Edward promised to make him feel good? Tears roll down his face and he spits vomit out of his mouth. This shouldn't be happening. Oswald would never do this to him. He wants to fight back but his arms are already numb and he _can't_.

There are footsteps in the hall, and Edward feels Oswald freeze in place behind him. It’s his dealer, just like he’d warned him. The owner of the footsteps rounds the corner, and it’s—

Oswald?

Edward is too overwhelmed, his heart is beating too loudly and too strongly. His head is swimming, and now he’s conjuring duplicates. It’s too much effort to hold on to consciousness, so he stops.

***

Oswald doesn’t need much time to assess the situation. Edward’s eyes roll back into his head and he slumps against the couch, the pungent smell of vomit in the air. Poised above him is a man Oswald doesn’t recognize, his cock in one hand and his other keeping Edward’s arms pinned behind his back. Oswald doesn’t remember making the decision to kill him, but a moment after he processes the sight in front of him he’s pulling him from on top of Edward and dragging him to the floor. Oswald has never been very skilled at going hand to hand, but he smashes the man’s face with his fist until his knuckles bleed freely, and then he switches to his left hand and does the same. When his left begins wearing out and his opponent has long ceased moving, he stops.

Edward.

Oswald clambers off the corpse and scrambles over to Edward on his hands and knees. His trousers drag though the vomit, but he couldn’t care less. Edward’s face is pale and he’s unresponsive to Oswald’s hands dragging through his hair and frantically patting over his face. He shudders and vomits again, and Oswald pulls him so his head is handing over the edge of the couch, keeping him from choking on it. Edward stirs and hold himself up on the edge of the couch, coughing and spitting.

“Ivy!” Oswald screams, checking that Edward is still supporting himself and tugging Edward’s pants back up until he’s decently covered. He doesn’t bother with trying to button them, pulling Edward’s shirt and jacket up to his shoulders again so he at least has more range of motion in his arms.

“Coming,” Ivy says cheerily, face dropping when she takes in the scene. “Oh my god, what’s wrong with him?”

“I think he overdosed on something,” Oswald says, slicking Edward’s hair back from his face. “Can you help him?”

“Yeah, definitely. What did he take?”

“I don’t know, check that guy’s pockets,” Oswald says, pulling Edward up so he’s sitting, legs folded behind him on the couch. He sits next to Edward on the couch, cradling his face in one hand and soothing over and supporting his back with the over. “Ed? Ed, look at me. You need to tell me what you took.”

“Oswald,” Edward says, tears still in his eyes from vomiting so hard. It looks like a vein in his eye might have burst. “Oswald, you’re alive?”

“Yes, I’m alive, Ed. Now what did you take?”

“I missed you,” Edward says, tears spilling down his face. “I took them because I miss you, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so weak. I just have so many regrets—”

“Ed!” Oswald snaps. A part of him is grateful to hear these revelations, and he can mull it over later, but the most important information he needs is what Edward has taken.

“I don’t know what they are exactly. Stimulants, mostly, but also a kind of hallucinogen,” Edward says, talking so quickly Oswald almost can’t make out what he’s saying. “Barbara gave them to me.”

That bitch. Oswald takes out his phone and dials the _Sirens_.

“I found something!” Ivy says, removing an orange pill bottle from his jacket pocket. “I don’t know if this is the original container, though. It sounds like he took something cooked, not a pharmaceutical.”

“You have experience with Gotham’s drug trade,” Oswald says. Ivy nods. “Do you think you can safely take an educated guess?”

“Not safely for him,” Ivy says, nodding at Edward. The phone is still ringing.

“Get a bucket from the kitchen closet,” Oswald instructs. Edward’s head has lolled against his shoulder, and he’s murmuring to himself. Someone picks up the line.

“Sirens,” Tabitha answers.

“Get me Barbara Kean,” Oswald demands.

“She’s a little busy right now, who is this?” Tabitha drawls.

“Oswald Cobblepot.” Silence. “Get her. Now.” He hears the phone being put down.

A few moments later he hears, “Hello, Ozzie.”

“I need to know what the pills you gave Ed are,” Oswald demands.

“How do you know about that?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Oswald screams, “Tell me now!”

“They’re amphetamines. How are you alive? Are you with him? What’s going on? Did he—” Oswald flips his phone closed.

“Amphetamines!” he calls to Ivy. “What do you need?” Ivy rounds the corner and passes a metal bucket to Oswald. He rouses Edward and hands it to him, and he immediately starts to dry heave into it. So much for needing the bucket. Ivy holds Edward’s wrist at his pulse point, using the watch Edward has on to count the seconds.

“Okay, we really need something for his heart. Do you have anything like that?” Oswald’s own heart nearly stops at the mention. He swallows.

“My father had a heart condition… I’m sure his medication is somewhere.” He stands, feeling like his own heart is sinking into his stomach, no longer made of muscle but of lead. He can’t lose another person like this. “I’ll find it. Is… is he going to be alright?” Ivy nods.

“He should be fine. He’s still pretty coherent, at least right now.” Oswald races to find the pills, praying to no deity in particular that it’s what Edward needs. He finds them in the medicine cabinet. They’re expired, but not by long. It’s better than nothing.

“Will these work?” he asks, passing the bottle to Ivy.

“Beta blockers! That’s just what we needed,” Ivy relates cheerfully. Oswald leaves to get Edward a glass of water. When he comes back, Ivy is placing two pills into Edward’s hand and closing the bottle. Edward tosses them back and takes Oswald’s offered glass.

“Try not to throw up. I’m going to give you one of my ginger based remedies from the car. I normally use it when I get motion sick, but it should keep back the nausea long enough for those to get into your system. Back in a sec,” she tells Edward, racing to the front door. Oswald sits next to Edward and feels how hard he’s shaking, soothing over his back.

“Why are you helping me?” Edward asks.

“You know why,” Oswald says. They sit in silence, Edward shaking and occasionally whimpering. Oswald thinks he can hear his teeth grinding, but he might be imagining that.

“Do you have any antipsychotics in the house?” Ivy asks, coming back into the room. She passes a brown square of what looks like candy to Edward, who obediently ingests it. Oswald shakes his head. Both he and Edward were wary of being given drugs of that variety. “What about benzos?”

“That I have,” Oswald says.

“Hopefully that’ll help calm you down,” she tells Edward. “You’ve been experiencing psychosis, haven’t you?” Edward nods miserably and brushes a hand under his eyes.

“How long have you been taking them?” Oswald asks him. Experiencing hallucinations while high on amphetamines is not normal. Plenty of people were taking drugs at Fish’s club and in his own, he knew what they were meant to do and what was a sign you needed to discreetly remove someone to detox. You only saw things that weren’t there if you were abusing them for some time or overvamping. Evidently, Edward had been taking them so often he had honestly thought that they were _supposed_ to be a hallucinogen.

“A few days,” Edward says.

“How many times a day?” Ivy asks.

“Every few hours,” Edward admits. Ivy’s eyes widen. She takes the pill bottle she’d retrieved from the dealer and opens it, tapping a pill into her palm and examining it.

“You should be dead,” she declares.

“This isn’t my first rodeo,” Edward tells her. That’s extremely surprising to Oswald. He’d never pegged Edward for the type. He remembers seeing an assortment of vitamins and minerals on Edward’s bedside table; he can’t imagine him willingly putting something potentially harmful into his body. Yet, he doesn’t have to imagine it. He’s seeing the results of it now.

“You’ve been overvamping for at least as long as you’ve been seeing things,” Ivy says. “That’s a symptom of an overdose. Don’t you know that?”

“I see things semi-regularly when I’m in distress,” Edward says, “so that’s never been a reliable indicator for me.” This is also news to Oswald. He had no idea that Edward experienced hallucinations regularly. That’s a conversation for another time, though.

“How are you feeling?” Oswald asks, filing away that information for later.

“Better,” Edward says. “Can I have a benzo?” Ivy frowns.

“You seem calm enough now that you don’t really need it,” she determines. “You’re not seeing anything now, are you?”

“No,” Edward says. “I mean, not if the two of you are both real.” Oswald looks back at him in shock.

“You mean you really can’t tell?” he asks.

“That’s what psychosis means, Oswald,” Edward says, rolling his eyes.

“I think you could use a cool shower,” Ivy suggests, feeling his forehead. “You’re overheating a bit, plus you’re sweating a lot and you puked, which are both pretty gross. Get your jacket off, at least.” Oswald helps him out of his jacket, throwing it over the side of the couch. His shirt hangs open, all of the buttons gone.

“I don’t think you had a seizure, and if you did it would have been pretty short, so that’s good,” Ivy says. “Can you get to a shower with our help?”

“Yes,” Edward says. Oswald helps him stand and Ivy grabs his other arm, the two of them keeping Edward from swaying too far as he walks. They deposit him on the toilet. Ivy starts the shower and adjusts it so it’s cool.

“I’m going to prepare something to drink for him with a lot of electrolytes,” Ivy says. “He needs to stay hydrated.” Oswald abruptly realizes that she’s leaving him to help Edward shower alone. Before he can voice an objection, she’s gone. Edward shrugs out of what remains of his shirt and lets it fall to the floor, undoing his watch and leaving it on the sink. He tries standing on his own and Oswald swoops in to help, holding his waist to steady him. Edward pushes his pants down and manages to toe off his shoes, stepping out of them so he’s only in his underwear and socks.

“Um,” Edward says. Oswald understands.

“Sit down,” Oswald instructs, pulling Edward’s socks off for him. Oswald slips out of his jacket and folds it on the sink, then rolls up his sleeves. He pulls Edward’s glasses from his face and puts them on top of his jacket.

“Alright, come here.” He holds out his hands for Edward, helping him to stand and then get in the shower. Edward does alright for a minute on his own, remaining virtually motionless under the spray. He reaches up to run a hand through his hair and sways dangerously. Oswald immediately steps into the shower and pulls Edward against him. Edward slips back until his shoulders meet the wall and Oswald steps under the spray, using his hold around Edward’s waist to prevent him from slipping down the wall. Edward gasps, as if only just realizing he’d almost ate shit in the shower, finally reacting and putting his arms around Oswald’s shoulders. His feet slip a few times as he attempts to get them under himself, and by the time he’s upright, Oswald is soaked from his head down to his expensive leather shoes.

“Are you okay?” Oswald asks him. Edward nods, though he looks fairly dazed. Oswald thinks that maybe he’s spent enough time cooling off, especially when he’s a fall risk right now. Just as Oswald is about to propose that they vacate the shower, Edward kisses him.

His kiss tastes acidic, but mostly it’s just shocking. Oswald is well aware that amphetamines can be a precursor to risky sexual behavior for some, but it must really be true if Edward is excited enough to go for _him_. He pulls his mouth away. Edward’s hard-on is touching his leg.

“Don’t,” Oswald says, a warning.

“Sorry,” Edward immediately says, and then, “Thank you.”

“You can buy me a new suit,” Oswald says, uncomfortable at the direction this is taking. It’s too familiar.

“Done,” Edward replies.

“I think you’re done showering,” he says, eager to put some physical distance between them as well.

“Okay,” Edward agrees, letting Oswald lead him to stand on the bath mat. He takes a robe off the wall hook and helps Edward into it. Edward turns away and pushes his underwear down his legs, letting them hit the mat with a wet sound. Oswald draws Edward’s arm across his shoulder and puts his own arm around Edward’s waist, leading him into the nearest bedroom.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells Edward, hastily heading to his own room to change out of his wet clothes and into his own pajamas and robe. His bed looks like it’s been slept in. At this, he finally isn’t surprised. Edward’s behavior only makes sense with one explanation. The real answer he needs is how he’s going to deal with it. Edward is sleeping when he returns, and he carefully sits on the bed next to him.

“I’ve got it ready,” Ivy says, entering with a yellow liquid in a tall glass. Oswald feels a little bad shaking Edward awake, but he needs the fluids. He helps Edward sit up, pushing pillows behind him. Ivy hands him the glass, and he keeps his hand on it while Edward drinks, in case his grip falters. He stops halfway.

“Thank you,” Edward tells her. “What’s your name?”

“Ivy,” she says. “You might remember my dad, Mario Pepper?”

“I remember all the cases I worked on,” Edward says. “Someone planted evidence at that scene, if I remember correctly. I’m very sorry for the misunderstanding that followed. Bullock was always a little trigger happy. Perhaps I would have been able to tell it was false evidence, but I wasn’t the one who collected it.”

“It’s alright, my dad wasn’t a real winner,” Ivy says, shrugging. “No big loss to the world.”

“I can relate,” Edward says, smiling a bit for the first time.

“Finish it,” Oswald reminds him, helping Edward throw back the last of the drink. “You should get some rest.” Ivy approaches the bed and sits next to him, taking hold of his wrist again. She watches the clock.

“Yeah, you can sleep. I think your system has processed most of it.” She moves closer and stares into his eyes. “You’re still pretty dilated, but I really think it’s fine. Are you going to look over him, Oswald?”

“Yes,” Oswald says. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep, anyways.

***

The next morning, Edward feels like hell. His jaw hurts from grinding his teeth, his throat hurts from the bile, his entire body is sore, his mouth tastes disgusting—

And Oswald Cobblepot is in bed with him. Watching him.

“Good morning,” Edward says, checking that his robe is pulled on correctly.

“You’re in love with me,” Oswald says.

“’Good morning, Edward,’” Edward says. “That’s your line.”

“You shot me,” Oswald says, brow furrowed.

“You deserved it,” Edward says, sitting up.

“I did,” Oswald agrees. Edward is at a loss for a moment, but there’s something else he needs to know.

“Yesterday,” Edward ventures, “Before you really showed up, I was having a hallucination of you—”

“He was real. You passed out,” Oswald says, a little alarmed at this new information. Had Edward truly believed that Oswald would do something like that to him? “I pulled him off you. I don’t think anything happened.”

Edward swallows and says, “Well, thank you, again—”

“Did you want it?” Oswald asks. He can’t even consider what it would mean if Edward hadn’t, what it implies that Edward thinks of him. Of course, if Edward had been amenable to the encounter, that led to an entirely different set of problems. It would make Oswald guilty of killing yet another one of Edward’s sexual partners. Then again, Edward technically couldn’t consent because he’d been so impaired, wanted or not… Oswald's head aches. He needs to take a nap.

“I did, at first,” Edward admits. If Oswald was unsure of Edward’s attraction to him before, he knows now. “Like I said, I initially assumed he was a hallucination of you, but at some point, I started to believe that it was really you. I’m not sure exactly when, the memory is foggy. When I started to notice that maybe he wasn’t quite behaving like you, the pills really started to hit me. I wasn’t feeling very well, as you saw. I asked him to stop… and he didn’t. I’m glad you arrived when you did.”

“You wanted to have sex with him because you thought he was me?” Oswald says, green eyes comically wide.

“That was the idea,” Edward says, getting out of bed. He heads into the bathroom; the taste in his mouth is just too foul to wait.

“Was that just ‘the idea’ because you were high, or have you wanted that when you aren’t rolling?”

“It wasn’t just because I was high,” Edward says, peeling the plastic off a new brush. “Though it didn’t exactly hurt.”

“You shot me,” Oswald repeats.

“We’ve been over this,” Edward reminds him, wetting it and applying toothpaste.

“I’m just trying to understand. Why shoot me if you knew you’d regret it?” Edward mumbles a reply through a mouthful of foam.

“What?” He spits into the sink, rinsing his mouth out. Much better. He heads back into the bed, sitting beside Oswald.

“I said I didn’t think I would regret it,” Edward whispers. “But the second I saw you disappear into the deep… it was the only thing I felt.”

“I came here to kill you,” Oswald says. Edward nods.

“That’s fair,” he reasons.

“I came here to kill you for shooting me in cold blood and dumping me into a river… but it wasn’t in cold blood, was it?” Edward shakes his head.

“You had to pay. I didn’t want you dead, and I still cared for you, but there wasn’t any other choice. Isabella was dead, and her killer was alive. I had to avenge her… even if the killer was you. Maybe even especially because it was you. I thought that since it was pretty much an eye for an eye… I thought that maybe I wouldn’t regret killing my best friend. It was the logical decision, and it was by all means a fair trade. The logic of it should have absolved me of any guilt over what I was doing, because who you were to me shouldn’t have mattered, as far as justice was concerned,” Edward says. “I was correct in that assumption. It didn’t matter, as far as justice goes… but it did matter to me.”

“By care for me… you mean to say that you felt the same way?” Oswald pries.

“I still do,” Edward confesses. “I’m sorry for behaving inappropriately last night. I was still… somewhat under the influence.”

“I didn’t really mind,” Oswald says. “Apart from how horrible you tasted.” Edward’s face reddens.

“I’m so sorry—”

“Relax,” Oswald interrupts, smiling a bit. “You’re still not the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.” Edward smiles back at him.

“Do you still want to kill me, then?” Edward asks, moving his hand across the bed until it’s next to Oswald’s.

“A little,” Oswald jokes. “But I’m sure I’ll get over it. There are a few other things I’ve decided I’d rather do to you.”

“Could you tell me what those things are?” Edward says, leaning in. “Or would you prefer to demonstrate?” Oswald puts his hand over Edward’s, and it’s so warm. It covers Edward’s almost entirely, pressing it into the mattress.

“I’ll demonstrate one of them,” Oswald bargains, leaning in and tilting his head. Their lips meet in a chaste kiss, broken shortly after it starts.

“That was nice,” Edward says, “Much better than being dead, I’ll wager.”

“What was it you regretted the most?” Oswald asks. Edward considers it a moment.

“Just that you were gone,” he answers. “I missed you, despite everything. We’d shared so much together, and you were gone. You took a part of me with you, Oswald. I think I wanted it back.” Oswald reaches up and touches his face, moving his hand through Edward’s hair to hold the back of his head and draw him in for another kiss. Edward allows his lips to part a little, and evidently Oswald appreciates that Edward brushed his teeth, because he flicks his tongue out between them. Edward breaks the connection and smiles shyly, tuning his hand over underneath Oswald’s.

“Are you over it?” Edward asks.

“Over what?” Oswald says, watching Edward’s mouth attentively.

“Wanting to kill me?” Oswald looks up.

“Well, you seem penitent enough,” Oswald says. “However, I think you really owe me _two_ new suits. The first one has a bullet hole and bloodstains, and the second has vomit on the trousers.”

“I think that’s reasonable,” Edward says. “I’ll even throw in a few ties.”

“Trying to sweeten the pot?” Oswald says, squeezing his hand.

“If it gets me back into your good graces,” Edward replies.

“There is something that I regret as well,” Oswald says, rubbing his thumb over Edward’s knuckles. “I need to know if it mattered.”

“Alright,” Edward says, “What is it?”

“If I had told you I had feelings for you before you met Isabella, would you have reciprocated them?” Edward contemplates this a moment.

“I think it would have depended on how long I had in the interim. Of course, I was aware of my attraction to you, but you’d shown no signs of returning my feelings and I might not have believed you, at first,” Edward says. “I think that if it had been a matter of hours, I would have gotten scared and denied that you really felt like that towards me. She would have been the safer bet. If it had been days, I would have had time to realize that you could actually like me… like that. There were also a few… opportune moments you might have done something. Moments that I would have considered especially romantic.”

“Then it would appear that I do have something to regret after all,” Oswald says. “Of course, I’ve got what I want now. The only thing to regret is time lost.”

“Am I what you want?” Edward asks. “What do you want from this, anyways?”

“I love you, Edward,” Oswald says. “I understand you, and you understand me. I would die for you, and you’ve shown that you’d do the same for me. I want to be with you and make you happy, because there was a time when you did everything you could to help me and make me happy. What else does love mean?”

“I’m not sure,” Edward says. “I think I’d rather you live for me, at any rate. I haven’t been so happy with the alternative.” Oswald chuckles.

“I think I can manage that, I am notoriously hard to kill.”

“More cockroach than penguin,” Edward remarks fondly. “Should we see what Ivy’s up to? She must be very bored.”

“She’s probably in the greenhouse, and trust me, she won’t be bored in there. Let’s get you something to eat,” Oswald suggests, throwing the covers back and getting out of bed. “How does your stomach feel?”

“I think I’m hungry,” Edward hypothesizes. When they walk through the living room, the body is gone. The ruined carpet has also been removed, taking with it the evidence of Edward’s overdose. Edward approaches the couch, examining it for damage. Miraculously, Edward had managed to hurl over the side and spare the upholstery.

“Did you ruin my couch? I’ll add it to your current tab for damages,” Oswald deadpans.

“Your couch survived unharmed,” Edward says. “Which is excellent, because I’m rather fond of it still.”

“Me too,” Oswald says, his voice much softer.

“Did you kill him?” Edward asks, almost as an aside.

“Yes,” Oswald answers.

“Good,” Edward says. He won’t let one bad memory ruin what this place means to him. He can just make more good ones to outweigh it.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Oswald says, Edward’s silence worrying him.

“I know it wasn’t. He took advantage. It’s over now,” Edward says, turning and folding himself into Oswald’s arms for a hug. “I’m just glad you were there to save me. You always are.”

“I always will be,” Oswald promises, hugging Edward tightly. This is all he really needs. It had been selfish to expect more—

No. The time for regret is over. They’re together again, and that’s all that matters.

“Let’s get you something to eat,” Oswald says, rubbing Edward’s back.

“I’m so sorry,” Edward says.

“I’m sorry, too,” Oswald says. “I’m sorry I hurt you, I wasn’t thinking about you, just myself and what I wanted.”

“I’m sorry I shot you,” Edward says, “Your father’s remains are in the woods where we met. I can show you—”

“You can show me later,” Oswald says. “Food.”

“I wanted to bury our relationship. It was very symbolic,” Edward says.

“I’m sure it was, and I’m also pretty sure you haven’t been eating regularly, because you’re even skinner than when I last saw you.”

“I’ve been busy,” Edward objects. Oswald releases him from the hug.

“Abusing amphetamines doesn’t help with keeping weight on, either,” Oswald scolds. “What do you want to eat?”

“Pancakes?” Edward asks.

“I can do pancakes,” Oswald says, “and you’re having eggs, too. Would you go find Ivy while I get started?” Edward nods and kisses his forehead, leaving Oswald flustered as he makes his exit. By the time his verdant companions arrive, he’s already got two pancakes on a plate, which he hands off to Edward.

“What do you want to drink?” Edward asks, laying the plate in front of Ivy.

“Can I have orange juice?” she asks, slathering her pancakes with maple syrup.

“Oswald?” Edward asks, pulling open the fridge.

“A Bloody Mary,” he deadpans, flipping the pancakes.

“Tomato juice it is,” Edward says, gathering the bottles of juice. He lays them on the counter and selects three glasses, pouring and serving Ivy. Edward then goes back into the fridge to put the bottles away and select two sticks of celery for their drinks, placing them on the table and sitting to patiently await his pancakes. Oswald serves him promptly and gets started on his own pancakes. When those are done, he cracks six eggs into the pan and quickly scrambles them, spooning them onto his plate and then serving Edward and Ivy. Finally, the chef rests.

“These are really good,” Ivy says through a mouthful of pancake. Edward hums and nods vigorously in concurrence, too polite to speak with his mouth full.

“Make sure you eat your eggs,” Oswald says, pointing a threatening fork at Edward, who raises his hands in surrender.

Taking a sip of his tomato juice, Edward asks them, “Did you hear about the angry pancake?”

Oswald and Ivy glance at each other.

“He just flipped.” Edward’s pun is met with equally annoyed groans, and he smiles, delighted.

“I can’t believe I’m in love with you,” Oswald says, dramatically massaging his temples.

“You love the riddles, too,” Edward insists.

“You guys are so married,” Ivy says, “get a room.”

“This is my house,” Oswald reminds her, “I have _all_ of these rooms, and I’ll flirt with Edward in every single one if it pleases me.”

“Was that a flirtation?” Edward asks.

“Yes, Edward. I’m _always_ flirting with you. Thanks for noticing,” Oswald says, rolling his eyes.

“Well, you don’t exactly make it _obvious_ ,” Edward counters.

“Edward, pretty much everyone we know knew that I was in love with you before you did. You’re not always as observant as you think you are,” Oswald sasses, taking a sip of his drink.

“Says the man whom I recited a love riddle to, who then went on to say it _back_ and yet still managed to miss the meaning of it,” Edward says, stabbing his eggs and popping a piece into his mouth.

“You’re both oblivious. Can I have more pancakes?” Ivy asks. Oswald takes a deep breath.

“Sure,” he says, getting up to make more.

“What are we going to do about Barbara Kean?” Edward says.

“Ivy and I had planned to gather a small army of freaks to take her on, but I’m hoping that infighting between her, Tabitha and Butch might destabilize her more before I make my move to take back control of the underworld,” Oswald says.

“I can honestly say that everyone who’s left actually misses you,” Edward informs him. “Barbara shook things up a little too much when she killed the heads of the families. Even the ones who took their place aren’t happy, because she’s very impulsive and they know they could easily be next. There’s no order like there used to be, just her and whatever rules she decides work for her for the time being.”

“Well, I don’t think she’ll prove much of a challenge now that the messiness between you and I is behind us,” Oswald says, flipping the pancakes.

“No, I don’t think she will be,” Edward says. “How exactly did you and Ivy become acquainted?”

“I was taking test tube samples of the river water where I washed up and found him in the same place. Small world, huh?” Ivy says. “He was in pretty bad shape, but I got him back to this place I’ve been working out of and patched him up.”

“She saved my life,” Oswald confirms.

“Why were you taking samples?” Edward asks her.

“When I went into the water, I looked like I was twelve. When I came out, I looked like this. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be curious too if you fell into one of Gotham’s water mains and came out smokin’ hot.” Edward narrows his eyes at her and then snaps his fingers.

“I knew you couldn’t be more than fourteen, this makes perfect sense, now.” He leans back in his chair, satisfied that things have been put to rights. Oswald puts two more pancakes on her plate.

“Falling into a pipeline and coming out looking ten years older makes sense to you?” Oswald asks.

“This is Gotham,” Edward says. “We’ve both seen stranger things happen.” Oswald can’t argue that point.

“I’m going back to the greenhouse,” Ivy says, her pancakes already decimated and ingested. Oswald is flattered she enjoys his cooking, and horrified by how quickly she’d managed to put them away. Oh, but to be young and have a quick metabolism again. 

“Whatever,” Oswald says, collecting his dishes while Ivy flounces from the room.

“I’ve got them,” Edward says, practically jumping out of his seat. He races around the table and then heads to the sink, pushing up the sleeves of the robe and turning on the tap. Oswald grabs a clean towel and prepares to dry. Edward is much slower at doing the dishes than he is, but he keeps that to himself.

“That’s everything,” Edward says, wiping his hands dry. Oswald finishes with the last plate and then stacks them back in the cabinet.

“Are we going to be okay?” Edward asks suddenly.

“What do you mean?” Oswald asks, approaching him. Edward crosses his arms and leans back against the counter.

“I mean are we really okay? Are we really just going to go back to how things were that easily?”

“Why not?” Oswald asks.

“Because things aren’t the same, Oswald. You betrayed me. I betrayed and shot you. How on earth are we going to trust each other?” Edward says, uncrossing his arms and gesturing wildly. Oswald takes his hands and steps closer.

“You’re right, things will never be the same,” Oswald says. “They already aren’t, because you know that I love you and I know that you love me. I’ve learned what that really means, that love is putting someone else’s happiness above your own. If you can trust that I’ve learned that lesson, then Edward, you can trust _me_. Because I still love you, more than anything.” A tear rolls down Edward’s cheek that he can’t wipe away, Oswald refusing to relinquish his hands for the task.

“How can you trust me?” Edward says, a broken whisper.

“Because you taught me what love really means, and you say that you love me. I know what that means to you. It means that as long as I’m good to you, as long as I love you like I should, I’ll never have a reason not to trust you. Is that true?” Edward nods, more tears slipping down his face. Oswald’s own cheeks feel wet, come to think of it. He lets go of Edward’s hands. “Come here.”

Edward folds into his arms with ease, hugging him tightly. Oswald grips the back of the robe to pull him that scant, impossible distance closer. He breathes in, feeling Edward’s chest expand against his and taking comfort in the motion, as Edward clutches at his back and sniffles. Oswald pulls back, tilting his head and kissing him. Edward gasps and then reciprocates, putting both hands on Oswald’s face, cupping his cheeks and bringing their lips together in a more perfect kiss. Oswald pushes Edward tighter against the counter, moving between his legs. He wants to feel every inch of him, remembering with startling clarity that Edward doesn’t have a stitch of clothing on under the robe. He disengages before things become any more heated.

“We’re going to be okay,” Oswald affirms, holding Edward’s gaze.

“We’re going to be okay,” Edward whispers, a mantra. Perhaps he’s being naïve, but something about Oswald’s tone— that familiar certainty he’s always admired— makes him actually believe it. They’re going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> I also can't believe I went there. Please don't kill me. (Though I wouldn't fight you if you tried.)


End file.
